world affairs. In fact the present performance seemed
rather ludicrous, and when David emerged, solemn
and concerned, to usher me in, I entered the "Bird
Room" assuring myself that I should not ask Jean
Jacques Rousseau if birds confabulated or no. The
Medical Board consisted of a Colonel, a Major, and a
Captain. The Captain was a civilian in uniform, and
a professional neurologist. The others were elderly
Regular Army doctors, and I am inclined to think
that their acquaintance with Army Forms exceeded
their knowledge of neurology.
While David fidgeted about the ante-room I was
replying respectfully to the stereotyped questions of
the Colonel, who seemed slightly suspicious and much
mystified by my attitude to the War. Was it on re-
ligious grounds that I objected to fighting, he in-
quired. "No, sir; not particularly," I replied.
"Fighting on religious grounds5' sounded like some
sort of a joke about the Crusades. "Do you consider
yourself qualified to decide when the War should
stop?" was his next question. Realizing that he was
only trying to make me talk rubbish, I evaded him by
admitting that I hadn't thought about my qualifica-
tions, which wasn't true. "But your friend tells us
that you were very good at bombing. Don't you still
dislike the Germans?" I have forgotten how I
answered that conundrum. It didn't matter what I
said to him, as long as I behaved politely. While the
interrogations continued, I felt that sooner or later I
simply must repeat that couplet out loudó"if birds
confabulate or no". Probably it would be the best
thing I could do, for it would prove conclusively and
comfortably that I was a harmless lunatic. Once I
caught the neurologist's eye, which signalled sym-
pathetic understanding, I thought. Anyhow, the
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